


I Do Not Think You Will Sing To Me

by Boethiah



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Masturbation, One Night Stands, One-Sided Attraction, Rare Pairings, Slice of Life, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-09 03:05:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18908248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boethiah/pseuds/Boethiah
Summary: This isn't a love story.(College/University AU. Robin/Ricken, one-sided Chrobin.)





	1. Peaceful Days

“So yeah, that’s how I wound up helping our little prince cram an essay on Lute’s third formulation,” Robin says, as she shoves her notebook into her knapsack. Ylissean History isn’t a heavy subject, and they’ve both got an hour of their time to spend chatting with one another.

“At _seven_ in the _morning?_ ” Ricken gives Robin a puzzled look. “That _has_ to be a war crime.”

“We managed around five hundred words before his first class. It was worse than a walk of shame.” The eyebags under her eyes and the mess her hair is in tell Ricken _that_ much, of course. “But hey, it was the least I could do.”

“Yeah.” Ricken nods. “After all, he’d do the same for us in a heartbeat.”

“That he would,” Robin says with a smile, standing up and slinging her knapsack over her shoulder. “Not much help _he’d_ be, though.”

Ricken starts up. “Hey, don’t back-talk Chrom!” he says, glaring at Robin.

Robin holds her hands out defensively, as if pushing against an invisible wall. “Whoa, I literally just helped him with his paper. I think I’ve filled my Good Friend Quota for the day.”

“Generally, you’re supposed to be a good friend _all_ the time.” Robin honestly can’t tell if Ricken is trying to make a serious face or is just holding a fart in.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” Robin turns back. “C’mon,” she says, gesturing for Ricken to stand, “the next class’ll be here any minute now.”

Outside, the hallway is crammed with students. The two blend in perfectly among their fellow sophomores – Robin with her black hoodie and khakis, and Ricken with his t-shirt, denims, and blue baseball cap.

As the two begin their stride through the hallway, a tall freshman nearly stumbles into Ricken; the latter squirms away just in time, then rejoins Robin as she makes her way to the elevator. Ricken just frowns. One of these days, puberty will grace him, and _he’ll_ be the one bumping into people by accident.

When the two regroup, Robin picks up right where she left off. “I swear, though, Chrom is the thickest student I’ve ever had to teach.” Coincidentally, he is also the _only_ student she’s ever had to teach.

Ricken squirms. “Again, can we _not_ back-talk Chrom like this?”

“I’m just saying!” Robin waves her right hand. “If you had to wake up three hours before class starts just to help him out with his thesis, _you’d_ probably feel the same way.”

“But –“

“Look, I’m just saying, sometimes he can do some _really_ dumb shit. Remember the orange incident?”

Ricken sighs. He never could get the last word in – she’s been shutting down his arguments since they were _eight_.

And she knows it, too. “See what I mean?” she says, looking back at Ricken with a triumphant smile.

* * *

“…and I told her that hey, I don’t like her back-talking you like that.”

Chrom smiles. “That sure sounds like something she’d do,” he says, his voice devoid of malice.

Ricken grimaces. He’s trying to give Chrom a mission report, but so far Chrom seems more amused than angry. They’re in the university garden, both looking at the flowers – Chrom’s supposed to be on his way to his next class, but fifteen minutes with a friend was fifteen minutes with a friend.

“It was kind of my fault in the first place, so I don’t blame her for venting.” Chrom gives Ricken a strong pat on the back. “Sorry you had to be the sounding board, though.”

“But –“

“Look, all three of us are friends. There’s no need to fuss over something as small as this.” Chrom scratches the back of his head. “Really, it’s my fault for not being diligent enough.”

Ricken shrugs. “I guess it’s good to admit when you’ve screwed up.” Chrom laughs, a soft laugh that makes Ricken relax his shoulders and smile a bit.

Ricken turns his head. Two girls he doesn’t recognize are staring at Chrom – when they see Chrom staring back at them, they turn away and start giggling. Not that he blames them. He’s seen Chrom at swim class; the guy’s _ripped_ from all the gym time, swimming, and fencing that he does. Even through his relatively conservative varsity jacket, Ricken can see his muscles bulging out.

As usual, next to Chrom, Ricken is _invisible_ to them.

While Ricken isn’t looking, Chrom turns back to him. “Something wrong?” he says, sudden concern in his voice. “You look like something’s eating you.”

“It’s nothing.” Ricken smiles. “Just…thinking of my museum trip tomorrow, that’s all.”

* * *

The walk back to Robin’s dormitory is a brief one, but usually the conversations they have make it worthwhile. Usually.

This time, it’s another one of Robin’s hookup horror stories. Ricken’s never hooked up, so it’s not like he’s got a frame of reference; he just takes Robin’s word for it.

“So after he compares me to his ex for, like, the _seventh_ time that night, I start to want to go home. I’m fine with being a rebound, but I don’t want them to go out and _say_ it, y’know?” Robin says, wringing her hand dismissively. “Feels unnatural.”

Ricken nods. “Mm-hm.”

“And then he takes a swig of his drink, and _pukes on the floor_.”

Ricken winces – the first genuine emotional reaction Robin’s gotten out of him so far. “That’s disgusting.”

“I think my dress’s still stained with his vomit, actually. And I’m like, ew?” Robin says. “And he’s all ‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ but deep down I’m relieved that I don’t have to go home with Mr. Issues.”

“Sounds like it’d be a handful.”

Robin nods. “So yeah, that’s how last Friday went for me. Went home alone for a change, and with a bad taste in my mouth.”

Ricken tries not to breathe a sigh of relief. No matter how many times she tells him about it, Ricken can’t help but squirm at the idea of Robin going home with another man.

“Anyway, you were saying about seeing Chrom earlier?”

This is the fifth conversation in a _row_ this week that’s devolved into a “Chrom-versation,” as Ricken mentally terms it. “Yeah, we talked a bit. About swim class, mostly.”

“Is he doing good in class?”

 _Why don’t you ask him yourself_ , Ricken thinks, but he bites his tongue before he can say something that snippy. “Didn’t you help him with his paper just this morning?”

There’s a brief silence. Ricken turns to Robin – her expression barely masks mild embarrassment.

“…right.”

Ever since the two met at a high school party four years ago, Chrom’s been a popular topic for Robin to discuss – which, well, Ricken couldn’t exactly fault her for. Chrom’s easy enough to fall for, Ricken supposes; he’s good-looking, nice, and from an absolutely _loaded_ family.

 _But why can’t she just go and_ hook up _with him already?_

“Ricken?”

Robin’s voice snaps him back to reality. Turning around, he sees that they’re at the foot of her dormitory already. He shakes himself awake and clears his throat.

“Oh, we’re here already,” he says. “When did that happen?”

“A minute ago. You just…spaced out suddenly.” Robin looks at him with an eyebrow quirked. “Something the matter?”

“No, everything’s fine. Just contemplating our museum paper, is all.”

“I see. Anyway, see you tomorrow, Ricken!” Robin waves him goodbye and dashes towards the dormitory’s entrance – her usual farewell.

After Robin disappears behind the door, Ricken stands there for a while, staring into space. Finally, he takes a deep breath, adjusts his cap, and starts for the campus gate.

There’s plenty of time to think about her peculiarities on the way home, after all.

 


	2. Tensions

Ricken braces himself against the morning chill. A paper cup of instant coffee in his hands, he walks toward Chrom, who’s leaning against a building wall with his arms crossed. At Chrom’s feet is a blue duffel bag.

Chrom waves at Ricken, who returns the gesture with a look and a nod. “Where to?” Chrom says.

“Library. I’ve got to study for my visit later.” Ricken punctuates the sentence with a sip from his cup.

“Alright.” Chrom pushes himself off the wall, then picks up the bag and joins Ricken in his slow stride. “I’ve got varsity practice today.”

“I guessed,” Ricken says, glancing at the bag. The university library’s only a short walk from where they are, but they walk as slowly as possible towards it. “So hey – about last night?”

“Oh, the stuff about your friend? What about it.” Chrom had to sleep early, so he’d been forced to cut that conversation short – now was as good a time as any to restart it.

Ricken turns away. “What should he do? I mean, he’s into her, but he’s too scared to ask her out.”

“Why?” Chrom’s confused. Of _course_ Chrom’s confused. He’s probably gotten more confessions and love-letters sent his way than anyone else in this school.

“Well, she’s kind of a party person, and uh…” Ricken takes another sip of his coffee. “…he’s not.”

Chrom’s confusion doesn’t abate. “So? Variety’s the spice of life.”

“Well, er, maybe he doesn’t have enough confidence to ask her out.” Ricken tries his best to look dismissive, but the truth is that he just can’t bear to look at Chrom. “And he’s intimidated by the people he thinks he’s competing with.”

Chrom scratches the back of his head. “Well, if he doesn’t act soon, one of those guys will,” he says.

Ricken forces himself to look at Chrom. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning. If you’re into a girl, I say take the chance, gods be damned.” Chrom slings his duffel bag over his broad shoulders. Either it’s light or he’s getting stronger; Ricken highly suspects the latter.

Ricken looks away. _How can I, when all she talks about is_ you?

“How can he, when…”

The two stop. Chrom looks at Ricken. “When what?”

On the side of a nearby building, Ricken eyes a pamphlet on the wall for the exchange students’ program. “…when she’s going to leave for Valm the next semester?”

“I don’t see why that’d be a problem? Unless she’s staying there for good, but I’ve seen long-distance relationships that work.”

“You have a point.”

Silence.

“Well, that’s all I needed to ask.” Ricken looks at his phone, still holding his coffee with one hand. “Look at the time, I’ve got to go. See you later, Chrom,” he says, before waving goodbye to Chrom and walking to the library at a slightly faster pace.

Mercifully, Chrom breaks off the conversation and waves Ricken goodbye.

* * *

Sitting alone in his sparse white room, Ricken closes his Philosophy book and turns back to his laptop. He’s still got that museum visit report to do, but it’s just 9 PM – he can put that off for at least a good hour.

There’s a ringing sensation from his head, the consequence of a small dinner and two hours’ worth of study. Whenever he gets frustrated about it, he just reminds himself that if he couldn’t take the heat, then he shouldn’t have taken the scholarship. But stress is stress, and it takes its toll – sometimes overtly, sometimes less so.

He’s halfway through reading a digital comic when the itch first hits him. Ricken spends a good minute trying to ignore it, but once he’s done with the issue, he realizes that it isn’t going away until he does something about it. Silently, he curses the artist’s skill at drawing women and scrolls back to the comic’s most lurid panels.

It’s subtle at first. A ragged breath here, a scratch above the groin there – nothing that, to an onlooker, would look too suspicious. Ricken throws his head back and shuts his eyes, trying to imagine, but imagination is impossible when you’ve only got drawings to work with.

Exhaling loudly, he decides to open his browser and type in an address. A familiar address, though he’d be laughed at if he ever admitted to visiting it regularly. The itch intensifies, but so does another sinking feeling – a nagging feeling of emptiness and shame. When a thumbnail catches his eye, Ricken slides his boxers down and clicks.

 _Tethys_ , the video description calls her – Ricken doesn’t want to know anything else about her, or anything else at _all_. He just wants to _feel_. To feel her arms around him, feel her lips against his, to feel _anything_ besides the ringing in his head and the pit in his stomach.

He grasps at himself, pumping his hand up and down his cock in a race for satisfaction, but it only throbs and aches. On the screen, Tethys straddles another man’s torso; Ricken feels something foul bubble up in his stomach, but continues his rhythmic pumping anyway.

How does it feel to press your body against another? To touch and be touched, and have every touch wanted? Chrom would know; strong, handsome, broad-shouldered, _rich_ Chrom would know. Next to Chrom, Ricken is _nothing_.

Ricken sees it in his mind’s eye. Tethys’s soft hands pushing him down on the bed. Tethys’s hips wrapping around him, taking him in her. Tethys’s face twisting into an expression between ecstasy and agony as she feels him inside her. Tethys’s voice moaning out his name, so warm and melodic and _satisfying_.

All he wants is to feel that satisfaction forever.

All he wants is to finally feel like he’s _enough_.

He climaxes then and there, spurting his seed all over his chair and his desk and his hand. Ricken cries out – a long whinny that dies into a whimper, then into nothing.

 _Oh gods_ , is his first thought, as tears start to well in his eyes. _Oh gods, what the_ fuck _did I do?_

An hour later, when everything’s been cleaned up, Ricken’s typing away at his museum report. He’s all but forgotten the name “Tethys.”

* * *

Later, when the lights are off and Ricken’s lying on his bed, the sinking feeling returns. He can’t shake Chrom’s words from his mind – it’s standard advice, yes, but coming from Chrom it _means_ something. What if someone else makes a move?

Ricken opens his phone to Outrealms Messenger and looks at his online friends list. He’s got to think of something other than this.

As expected, all his group chats are dead – presumably, everyone’s asleep, too tired from work or college. Henry’s online, but well – Henry isn’t really someone he wants to message at midnight. And Robin?

Ricken’s heart skips a beat. _Robin’s online_.

_If you don’t make a move, someone else will._

“If you don’t make a move, someone else will,” Ricken says to himself, before punching in five letters and a period.

>RICKEN: Hello.

A good, long minute passes. Thoughts swirl around and gnaw at him; what if she doesn’t respond until tomorrow? What if she doesn’t respond at all? What if all the courage he’s mustered just…fails, and he can’t get through her? Perhaps he’d be disappointed. Perhaps he’d be relieved. _Oh gods, this was a bad idea –_

Then he hears a blip, and all those hopes and fears vanish.

>ROBIN: Gods, Ricken, you scared me.

>ROBIN: What’s up?

Ricken takes a deep breath. Hands shaking, he steels his resolve and types in his message.

>RICKEN: Nothing, just wanted to see how you were doing.

Ricken scrunches his face. He had _one_ opportunity, and he blew it with a bare-faced lie.

>ROBIN: Ugh.

>ROBIN: Don’t do that to me! I’m busy, too.

The next few moments are all light and sound as Ricken frantically types, erases, types again, and erases again. It feels like an eternity; he can only imagine what Robin’s seeing and feeling on her end. Finally, steeling himself a second time, he exhales loudly and – fingers shaking – types it in, sealing his fate.

>RICKEN: Actually, I have a question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those chapters that wouldn't come out right no matter how much I edited it, so I just decided to post it here.
> 
> Also, sorry for using Tethys as a porn star. I just didn't know what other name to use. ;_;


	3. The Club

 “You sure about this?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Ricken is _not_ fine. He can hear his heart beating; why did he pick _Friday_ , of _all_ days, to tell her?

“If you say so,” Robin says. She shows their tickets to the bouncer, who steps aside and lets them in. As the two pass inside, Ricken looks behind him – _the only way out is through_ , he tells himself, before Robin pulls him into the club.

The first thing that hits him is the bass drop, followed by a crowd chanting lyrics in unison. Neon lights leave him blind, and the shouting leaves him deaf – they grate against eyes and ears until all he can feel is the warmth of Robin’s hand on his wrist.

When he comes to, the first thing he sees is Robin staring at him with a smile. “Like it so far?” she screams, before letting go of him. The two are in a relatively open space – around them, bodies crowd in an unreadable mass, standing or drinking or gyrating against one another.

“I guess!” he shouts back, feigning a smile. He spins around, eyes frantically searching for the bar – once he finds it at the northeast of the room, he points at it and mouths an _I’ll be over there_ to Robin. Robin nods and, turning back, loses herself in the crowd.

Ricken shoves his way through the mob until he’s at the bar, then leans against the counter. He strains his eyes trying not to find Robin, instead looking at the nondescript mass the clubbers fade into.

He glances back. The bartender’s busy serving shots to a couple. The guy’s wearing the same varsity jacket that Chrom wears; it’ll probably be caked in vomit when he wakes up, given how shitfaced he looks.

Ricken turns back and stares into space. Gods, why couldn’t he keep Chrom out of his head? What was it about his blue-haired, chiseled, near-perfect friend that he couldn’t stop thinking about? Well, one thing was for sure – Robin probably had the same problem, what with all her endless talking and droning and bitching about Chrom. What was it about him that just stuck in your head?

As Ricken loses himself deeper and deeper into thought, the music and the people fade into his periphery. Who did Robin think she was? Going out every night, clubbing, sleeping with other people – while all the while, her real goal eluded her. Was she just too scared to admit it to him? Too nervous that he might shoot her down for being a _pathetic, whiny, poor little –_

Ricken seethes. The light and the sound seem to _press_ against him until he _can’t take it anymore_. He pounds his fist against the counter, his face twisted in a grimace.

“Can I help you?” the bartender says.

Ricken shakes his head. “N-no, sorry. It’s nothing.” He proceeds to spend a few moments in silence, his eyes shut.

 “If you don’t make a move, someone else will.”

Did the bartender tell him that? Was it a memory of Chrom? Or was it something else, something deeper in his psyche?

If he didn’t make a move on Robin…where was Robin, anyway? Ricken’s eyes scour the room for her.

They stop near the center. Either it’s been longer than Ricken’s been counting or Robin’s just that good, because she’s already grinding against someone he doesn’t recognize.

Ricken’s pupils dilate. Immediately, he shoves himself off the counter, not noticing the bartender still staring at him. He shoves and jostles his way through the crowd, prompting grunts of irritation from partygoer after partygoer, before stumbling into the space where Robin and that fuck are dancing. The man’s hands are on her hips and his mouth is at her neck and something _snaps_ inside Ricken, something old and primal and _angry_.

“Uh, Robin…” he says, trying to hide his contempt behind a frown. “I’m not feeling so well.”

Robin breaks off from the man and Ricken breathes an internal sigh of relief. “Sorry, I’ve – I’ve got to take this,” she says, and he tries not to smile. She turns back and mouths a _what are you doing_ to him – when Ricken clutches his stomach, she rolls her eyes, takes his hand, and leads him out.

* * *

 “What the _fuck_ was that about, Ricken?” Robin says to him, once they’re by themselves on the deserted street. “You _said_ you wanted to do this!”

Ricken steps back and sputters. “I…I _don’t know!_ Something just came over me! I didn’t – I swear I – “

“Do you _know_ how _long_ my dry spell’s been now?”

 _Two weeks to the day_ , Ricken thinks – he’s got most things about Robin memorized down to pat. His heart beats faster and louder now, he’s so close to telling her but so far…he just wants to say it, to say those words but they _won’t come out_ , won’t form in his throat.

“Well, I…” he says, an empty protest. “I don’t…”

Robin turns away. “I’m going back in,” she says, exhaling. “You can come with me or not. I don’t really care. This isn’t how I wanted tonight to go.”

“…me neither,” Ricken says, looking down. Oh gods, oh gods oh gods oh gods it’s all crumbling apart now – now she’ll hate and despise him and _never speak to him again –_

Robin turns back to him, red-faced. “And just _what_ did you expect would happen tonight?”

Instead of responding, Ricken struggles to take a step forward. Robin’s scowl disappears. “Ricken?” she says, her voice shifting from anger to concern. He takes another step forward, and another, and another and _another_ until he’s within arm’s reach of her. He’s so close now, so close that he can feel her breath and smell her skin…

Ricken opens his eyes. He’s brushing Robin’s cheek with his fingers; she isn’t moving to swat his arm away, but is instead staring at him wide-eyed. “Oh,” she says, her voice dropping what must be several thousand octaves.

“…How long?”

Ricken’s lips quiver. “Does it…does it matter?” he says, tears streaming down his face.

Robin brushes his hand away from her face – it falls limply to his side. For a single, crystalline moment, they’re lost in the spell of each other’s eyes.

Then she hugs him.

He feels her body against his for the first time he can remember – it feels warmer and softer than he’d ever imagined. Ricken presses his face against her arm and starts _sobbing_ , feeling as though he’s peeled a scab from a wound.

Finally, Ricken pulls away. “I don’t know what to do next,” he says, his voice cracking.

Robin holds his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “ _I_ do,” she says. Ricken looks up – her lips are frozen in a small smile.

No. _No._ Has it been _so long_ for her that she’d even consider _him?_

That’s the last thing Ricken can think before she grasps the back of his head and pulls him in for a kiss.


	4. Finale

As he feels Robin’s hand brushing against his cheek, Ricken shivers. He’s lying pinned underneath her, mere inches separating them; the room around them is cold, but all he can feel is her warmth against him. Their shoes lie near his door, kicked off in

He reaches up to brush one of her pigtails – she catches his arm halfway and presses it to her face. “Someone’s in a hurry,” she says, a small smile on her thin, wet lips. “Is this your first time?”

Shame welling up in his chest, Ricken nods. He’d never admit it, but earlier was the first kiss on the lips that he’d ever gotten from another girl. Come to think of it, would he even _need_ to admit it?

Robin giggles. “There’s no need to worry,” she says, caressing his face. “I’ll make sure you feel good, okay?”

Then she leans back in to plant another kiss on his lips, sliding her tongue inside his mouth and mingling it with his. Ricken nearly chokes on her spit, feeling her cheek as she continues to make out with him.

She pulls back and Ricken lets out a small whinny, a noise of surprise and _need_. Then she pushes herself off the bed, standing up – Ricken cocks his head towards her, confused. “Robin, what…”

“Shh. Wait.”

In one swift, fluid motion, Robin slides her dress off and tosses it aside. Her bra is next to follow; she unhooks it with haste, then throws it over her shoulder. Finally, she slides down her panties and stands upright, completely bare before Ricken. “How do I look?” she says.

Ricken’s eyes scan her body, from the plumpness of her breasts to the curve of her thighs, and that’s all the answer she needs. All of this is _his_ tonight, his to drink in with eyes and fingers and mouth.

That revelation leaves him speechless. “I’m…I…”

“I don’t think I need an answer,” she says, before mounting him once more. When she grasps the underside of his shirt, Ricken yelps, then squirms out of it as she pulls it off and tosses it aside.

It’s when she starts clawing at his pants that the full realization of what he’s doing dawns upon him. _He’s_ about to _have sex_ with his _best friend_ of _eleven years!_ After tonight, things would _never_ be the same between them. Ricken pulls back and stops her; he doesn’t realize it, but he’s panting loudly.

Robin senses his hesitation and pulls back. “Do you not want this?” she says, her voice full of sickly-sweet concern. “We can stop…”

But something older overrides his senses, something burning-hot and far stronger than mere reason could ever be. “No. No, I want this,” he says, retracting his hands. _I’ve wanted this for years_ , he thinks, but she kisses him before he can tell her.

She pulls back and plants one final kiss on his lips before she trails downward – planting kisses on his cheek, his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his stomach, and then on his navel. Her hands grip his waist and pull off his pants before tossing them aside, leaving them both naked in the room’s cold air.

Robin glances between his legs. He’s painfully erect, his cock throbbing – she takes it in her hand and feels it swell, rubbing his head between her thumb and forefinger. As she locks it inside her mouth, Ricken moans; as if responding to him, she slides him deeper inside her mouth. She continues to bob her head up and down for a while, making loud slurping noises as she does so.

This keeps up for all of thirty seconds before Ricken finishes in her mouth. She nearly gags on his semen, then stabilizes and slurps it up – pulling him out of her mouth, she licks up his shaft, dribbling the excess cum onto her tongue and swallowing it.

Ricken burns with shame. “Oh gods, Robin, I – I’m so sorry, I didn’t – “

“Shh,” Robin says, staring at him in a way that makes him melt into his sheets. “Just let me take care of you, okay?” She takes his cock in her hand again, then begins pumping up and down – as she jerks him off, she slides her tongue down his shaft and takes his balls in her mouth.

It doesn’t take long before he’s hard again, his cock lathered in spit and cum. She gets up and straddles him again, slowly rubbing his shaft between her thighs.

At this, the full force of what’s about to happen hits him once more. “Robin, I – “

Robin hisses, her voice hungry. “Shut up and _fuck me_ , Ricken.”

It takes all of a split-second for Ricken to process what she’s just said, and what he really means to her. This isn’t an act borne out of love. He’s just a distraction, an object to be used. Something to recharge her emotionally for the night, nothing more. Never anything more. Ricken wants to push her off…

…and then she shoves him inside her, and none of that matters anymore.

As she envelops him, the rest of the room fades away. She moves up and down, pumping her body against his, settling into a slow, rhythmic motion as she rides atop him. He closes his eyes, trying to resist the heat building up inside him and the urge to just finish right then and there, to just lose it and release everything inside her.

All he can feel now is her body moving up and down, up and down, up and down – inch by inch, he penetrates her further. He feels her heart beating and they thrum together as one, both synced together in the most beautiful rhythm he’s ever felt. Deeper he plunges, throbbing, _swelling_ against her; nothing matters now but the overwhelming _need_ , the urge to just… _to just…_

He climaxes a second time, his whole body shuddering, unable to contain the amazing feeling now rushing through him. Then she pins him down again and clamps down on him, squeezing every drop out of him – as he feels her reach her own climax, his body goes limp. When she finishes, she reels back and cries out someone’s name; Ricken tells himself that he doesn’t care whether it’s his or not.

Then, silence. 

* * *

Ricken opens his eyes, his vision still foggy. Robin lies snoring next to him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders – their clothes lie in a pile at his bedside. _Maybe she’s dreaming of having someone taller in her arms_ , he thinks.

Wasn’t this the ending he wanted so badly? Robin lying next to him in bed, happy and contented? Then why, instead of satisfaction, does he feel the same disgust he feels whenever he’s done playing with himself?

Was it because he knew she just using him? _Why_ was she using him?

A million questions swim around in Ricken’s head, and he strains to keep track of all of them. Finally, he pushes them to the back of his mind and tries to enjoy what little time he has in her arms. It’s funny, though – the entire ordeal makes his stomach churn.

He disentangles himself from Robin’s arms and sits up, staring at the wall. What was he complaining about? He’d had good sex with a friend – so what if it was only a means to slake their mutual lust? Why did that matter so much? Sex was sex, nothing more. None of it could mean anything more.

_None of it could mean anything more._

Ricken grits his teeth. He wants to curse Robin, curse Chrom, curse himself, curse the _world_ – but nothing comes out, and his anger merely simmers in his belly. He hates that he yearns for closeness, yearns for intimacy…but once he’s found it, he finds that he _can never have enough_.

Robin opens her eyes and looks at him. “Want to do this again some other time?” she says, her voice still ragged. So blissfully unaware; he hates it. He hates her. He hates the man whose name she cried out, the name that should have been his.

And he hates the readiness with which he says “yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.


End file.
